


In Other Words, I...

by Writing Is My Therapy (Fall)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Future Fic, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Stiles&Jackson (Weird) Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fall/pseuds/Writing%20Is%20My%20Therapy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s truly carrying a werewolf cub.<br/>And it sucks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Don't Expect You

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta-d. Sorry:(

Being a spark is fine. Well, mostly fine. Except that one morning into September Stiles finds himself vomiting his stomach out in the toilet, and he has to go to the 9am lecture hardly awake, and the medicine he takes doesn’t work at all because the day repeats itself again, again and, again. He’s a bit worried and about to go to the college doc, stopped by a call from home and you wanna see what’s worse? 

He has to happen to have a Zoology Student as roommate whose laptop’s meanwhile playing a Discovery show on wolves. Hunting. Pack. Mating. Knots. Cubs. 

He freezes once he thinks of the Beacon Hill pack.

What the show fails to tell is that fucking werewolves have knots too. Or not their fault, he guesses, because the show’s about and wolves and fucking were-s are still kinda human and they don’t supposed to have knots. Except that they do. 

Stiles’ so fucked.

The adrenaline made them do it. It’s no big deal. Not until now. Just once- yeah, there’s always tension between the two, sexual or non-sexual, but they only did it once. The summer heat seemed to be a plus, and adrenaline became the icing of the cake. It supposed to be one casual relaxing night, nothing more, and they agreed to never mention it again by the next morning, when they woke up in Derek’s bed spooning. In theory that Never-Mention-It included Derek Hale’s fucking werewolf knot and that idiot knotted Stiles out of blue without warning, and Stiles’ chilled after the sore faded like, three days later. They hung out until the teens went their way to colleges as usual- more like the pack of teenagers basically claimed the Hale living room as the perfect camping site and held bonfire party every night without a bonfire chatting and not-so-trying-to-kill-each-other. It should have been nothing. 

Then Stiles runs to the toilet the second time in the morning. 

Nothing turns to something and he has always hates something, because every time something came up from nothing it never ended well. And maybe, maybe a part deep inside of Stiles wants things to be different at least for once. 

For this once. 

He finds himself driving all the way back to Beacon Hill and shaking badly in his second-hand car (he leave his baby home ‘cause she’s not fit for long driving, though he misses her all the time, especially right now), non-stop, save the 10 minute in the service station for washroom and drinks, in such particular order. He thinks for a sec on cigarettes and gives up as the-next-one-in-line. Instead, he settles for a cup of coffee, still no good for pregnant woman (wait no, man, but heck his knowledge of pregnancy does base on a certain gender due to limitations of human beings and now he doesn’t know anymore. And he never wants to an exception. Not in such case.), he gets it, but a man needs a minute for himself. Stiles needs more. It seems that he never have enough, though, something always appears from nowhere, like at this very moment. 

But hey, he knows where it comes, saving loads of research. It comes from Derek. 

Not funny at all. 

Also not funny when one’s stuck in the aisle of the vet clinic. Because he knows what it means. It means the mountain ash walls and doors are keeping some uninvited supernatural from entering the room, and Stiles’ 100% human for sure, fragile bones and all, thank you very much, so what can be easily deducted as 1+1=2 is: 

He’s truly carrying a werewolf cub.

And it sucks.


	2. I Know But I don't Get it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deaton knows nothing more Stiles already does, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind reviews, love ya!

Deaton’s staring at him like something horrible happens.

It’s true, to some extent. Stiles himself is neither recovered from shock, but hey, it’s not polite to stare at people like that, please don’t let everyone turn into Derek Creeper Hale during his semesters, one’s more than enough. And he still wants to yell at Derek because of things, lots of things, for today, it’s mainly the very thing he comes to Deaton about.

“Stiles?” Deaton says his name like the “s” at the end is a question mark, eyes widen.

“Yeah, me. The one and only dear me. I need your help.”

“Stiles as a human should be able to pass the doorframe.”

“Stiles as a human plus something else cannot, apparently.”

He sighs.

Deaton surveys him for a whole minute.

“You sound very Stiles.”

“Because I am Stiles?” He rolls his eyes, “Can we stop using my name as an adjective? It’s not okay. It’s rude. Very rude and we are both adults and we know better to be rude, Dr. Deaton, and Stiles doesn’t like to stand in the aisle like a fool. I need…” He pales a little all of a sudden, “I need to sit down. Please let me in.”

Deaton doesn’t speak. Or before Deaton can speak, Stiles has to run to the toilet down the aisle. AGAIN. He thinks it should only happen in the morning! Why do they call it morning sickness otherwise? It’s so unfair and his body feels numb. And tired.

He should be tired, though. He drives for hours.

Shambling back to the door, he resists the desire to lean on the wall (it feels strange. Like there’s a DON’T TOUCH sign on it) and barely holds himself up, gazing at Deaton the Silencer.

It’s worse than the normal Deaton the Riddle, he decides, and he really needs to sit down. Or better, lie down. He needs to get it over with before doing so, though.

Deaton doesn’t give him the invitation in speak. To his surprise, Stiles finds himself get half-carry in by the Vet before he collapses on the ground, sitting in the armchair with a cup of hot tea in hands, zoning out a bit. Only Deaton speaks does he come back to himself and forms the words of the other man’s saying:

“What happened, Stiles?”

He sort of mutes at once, doesn’t figure out where to begin. He tries. Tries really hard- what he manages, is not much, but totally enough to his defence.

“I slept with Derek. I have not-so-morning sickness.”

Deaton turns to collect tools for full examination without a word.

Stiles knows already.

He just wishes he know what to do.

 

Practically Deaton knows nothing. It’s not like he knows more about werewolves than Stiles already does (‘kay, maybe he does, but he never gives answers and Stiles? _King of Research_. Who always does his homework.)- Stiles is pregnant (officially confirmed then), it happens to male werewolves if they do the knotting as well as females, no big deal, only that Stiles is a human boy.

“But, ” says the Vet, “You’re the spark.”

Sounds like it can be an answer to everything, and the answer explains itself pretty well (which is not, at all).  
It’s been a while, the vivid change of words, from “a spark” to “the spark”. At first he takes it as nothing more than a casual use of phrase, then it gradually becomes something Deaton means. Like, it’s permanent, it’s more a concept than nickname, and it’s unique. Stiles is unique in his own way, all his lifetime, and it feels like he is when it comes to the supernatural world, being The Spark.

Shame’s that he can’t find anything on the Internet and the only source he can rely and trust on is Alan Mysterious-I-am-but-an-Vet Deaton. Sometimes, sometimes he really wants to shoot the man, if he were not on their side, because it’s damned annoying. He wants to do it now.

He’s a pregnant w… man, it’s only logical to be bad-tempered.

“So, ” he tells himself to be civil and not a bad example to the baby (mom instincts or what, isn’t it too soon?), “It’s magic.”

“Not exactly, Stiles. ” Deaton holds his gaze, “It’s _you_.”

It’s totally not his fault that he punches Deaton in the nose, he doubts it barely hurt. Deaton’s not mad, though. He also assures he would not tell anyone because it’s not his news to break, then drives Stiles back to the dorm personally, with a pile of _Whoops! Ready to be a Mom?_ -ish books dumped on Stiles’ bedside desk. Stiles thinks about arguing all the stuff could be find online but he’s too deep in exhaustion, so he let it be.

Looks like the damage of weak punch still does its work.

Makes his point soundly, at least.

 

The second month into pregnancy, he passes out on Jackson.

Ironic, huh? In a pack of teenagers it has to be Jackson that choose the same Uni as Stiles does, and throughout the whole campus Stiles somewhat finds that it is safe around Jackson because he smells like home (and/or the pack), so he passes out in a manly manner. On Jackson. A freaking-out Jackson.

Damn his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes Jackson. What do you think? ;)

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of this fic came to me from nowhere and I dunno, I gave it a shot. It happened. Not sure where's it's heading at all, only some vague fragments here and there, yeah, not so cool. Reviews are love; give me motivation to continue. :)


End file.
